


take a trip into my garden

by shuijing



Series: little box of horrors [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Minor Violence, Murder, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuijing/pseuds/shuijing
Summary: Jaemin picks the ones he loves very carefully. He has a type. Commitment issues, slow to fall in love. A slightly inflated ego that likes getting stroked by Jaemin's attention. Distant with friends and family members, so it takes a while before anyone notices they're gone.Everyone said there were only two ways to recover from Hanahaki: get the surgery, or get over them. He found another way.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Series: little box of horrors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954312
Comments: 15
Kudos: 105
Collections: NCT Spookfest 2020





	take a trip into my garden

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: major character death, depictions of murder, body horror in terms of hanahaki disease effects, unstable states of mind, a brief mention of eating human flesh.
> 
> written for nct spookfest 2020 theme day: serial killers. be safe and happy (early) halloween!

The first one had been an accident.

There was this boy, on his high school's football team. Jaemin was on the track team, and sometimes, when their practice times overlapped, he would trace his bright red jersey with his eyes as he ran the track circling the football field. He was taller than Jaemin, had floppy hair that he had to push out of his face constantly when he was playing, and this way of smiling at whoever he was talking to that made them feel like the most important person in the world. They talked a couple times, because of their mutual friends, and his jokes were funny in a lame way. His player number was 11. He made crocuses grow in Jaemin's rib cage.

Jaemin knew what the flowers meant: that he didn't have a chance. Still, the feeling was so lovely. It was painful, when the petals clogged up his throat, or the stems scratched the soft tissue of his lungs, or fully-formed buds fell from between his teeth, but it was also so beautiful, knowing the hurt in his chest was visceral, not just an echo of his feelings. He felt like he had to share.

He cornered him, one day after their practices coincided. There was nobody else in the showers.

"I'm in love with you," said Jaemin, and he stared, his hand in his gym bag, sweat dripping down the side of his neck.

"No," he said, "no, you're not. You're fucking crazy. Sick in the head. Boys don't—You can't be in love with me. Don't fucking tell anyone, you're dead if you tell anyone."

And suddenly the colour drained out of his face. His pale cheeks reminded Jaemin of the curve of a crescent moon. "Do you have the—Are you sick? That disease, do you have it?" He got really close to Jaemin, as though he could tell just by looking at him real close. Maybe he could, or maybe he smelled the metal on Jaemin's breath. Either way, he grabbed Jaemin's arms, his too-long nails digging into his skin, leaving marks. "You have to get rid of it. Don't tell anyone, get rid of it. Don't talk to me ever again. You're not in love with me. Get the surgery, or—Or. Don't talk to me again."

Jaemin couldn't understand; did he not see, how wonderful this was? What the flowers symbolised, their beauty? He mumbled, "You're hurting me," but the boy didn't let go, just told him to leave him alone, to get rid of the flowers. How could Jaemin ever do that?

He let go, only for his hands to go for Jaemin's face. Jaemin wasn't sure what he intended to do. Was he going to suffocate him? Pry his mouth open and look at the crocuses wrapped around his uvula? Claw his eyes out? He never got to find out, because on instinct, he pushed him away. The floors were still wet. He hit his head on the edge of the benches falling. 

Jaemin watched the pool of blood mix with the puddles on the ground. The only sound he could hear was his own coughing, another bud pushing its way up his esophagus. It was beginning to wilt. He looked at it sadly, and put it in his pocket as a keepsake.

The next morning, a body was found in the third shower stall in the building near the football field. The showerhead was still on when he was found, washing away any possible fingerprint evidence. Judging from the bloodstains, the victim appeared to have died of head trauma meters away from where he was found, before being dragged into the shower stall. The football team didn't play in the finals that year. The police never found the murderer.

There were others after him too. A girl who liked to read under the trees of his university campus, a guy who he met at a party, then another guy. Freesia, prairie gentian, sage. He was in love with the feeling of being in love and never receiving that same love in turn. There was something about knowing that his feelings were strong enough to create something out of nothing, beautiful enough to make flowers bloom. Every flower was as precious to him as the last. Every love after the first wasn't an accident. He never got caught. The drawer in his room was full of those very last buds, already wilting when his tongue tasted them.

Everyone said there were only two ways to recover from Hanahaki: get the surgery, or get over them. Jaemin found another way.

And this new guy is Jaemin's sixth. He picks his loves very carefully. He has a type. Commitment issues, slow to fall in love. A slightly inflated ego that likes getting stroked by Jaemin's attention. Distant with friends and family members, so it takes a while before anyone notices they're gone. And Donghyuck fits all the criteria like he was crafted by the gods for Jaemin.

He has to end it tonight, though. They've been dating for about a month, and after some trial and error, Jaemin has discovered that this length of time is edging into dangerous territory. By now, the seeds of reciprocation would have been planted in Donghyuck's heart, and Jaemin would hate for the flowers to go away on their own. They're sunflowers this time, and their size makes them difficult and a real pain to throw up, but he likes how they match Donghyuck's personality.

He arrives at Donghyuck's house perfectly on time, holding a bottle of vintage wine. He wonders, as he rings the doorbell, whether he should use it as the murder weapon. He's never used glass before, and he's always open to trying something new. Still, it could be messy. Sometimes a good old-fashioned knife is the way to go.

Donghyuck opens the door before he can decide for certain, but that's okay. Jaemin's best work is spontaneous. He looks good, although all they're doing is staying in. Jaemin feels new blooms unfurl at the sight of his messy hair and nervous smile. He says hello, they kiss in the doorway, and Jaemin presents the wine to him.

"Oh, Jaemin, you didn't need to," Donghyuck says, but he looks pleased as he examines the year on the bottle. Jaemin smiles, satisfied. He always likes spoiling his loves. They deserve the best, after all.

He follows Donghyuck in, leaving his shoes neatly on the rack. In the living room, he startles when he sees a dog on the couch, chewing on a ball. It abandons its toy to cock its head at Jaemin, its tail starting to wag. "I didn't know you had a dog," he says, going over to pat its head.

"It never came up," Donghyuck shrugs, standing by the arm of the couch. "His name is Jeno."

Jaemin coos at it, and its tail wags harder. Jeno might pose a problem, later. It obviously won't like it when its owner is dead, after all, and Jaemin's silent exit may be disrupted. Maybe he'll just take it with him. It seems to like him well enough, and Jaemin has always wanted to raise a Samoyed.

"He didn't even bark when the doorbell rang," Jaemin observes. Donghyuck smiles proudly. "He's so well-behaved, isn't he? He's the best."

Jaemin decides on a whim to pull Donghyuck down by his shirt, kissing him deeply. Donghyuck melts in the taste of his lips, like cotton candy on his tongue. He always tastes sweet, no matter what time it is or what they've been eating. Donghyuck always whines about his coffee breath, but Jaemin has no complaints about him. He could keep kissing him forever, as long as he doesn't fall in love with him.

"What was that for?" Donghyuck asks after they pull apart.

"Nothing," Jaemin says. "You're cute when you talk about your dog."

Donghyuck pushes him away, rolling his eyes. "Flirt," he grumbles, and Jaemin grins. He really is so cute. Perhaps Jaemin's favourite of the six.

"I'm gonna go check on the food, it's almost ready. Make yourself comfortable," Donghyuck says, giving Jeno a final pat on the head. "Should I pour us some of that wine?"

"Please," Jaemin says, smiling beatifically. 

Donghyuck's silhouette disappears into the kitchen, and Jaemin takes a minute to absorb his surroundings. Donghyuck lives on the very outskirts of the city, and the closest neighbours own a huge plot of land, so between him and them, there is a yawning stretch of empty fields. Every fifteen, twenty minutes, the distant sound of a car driving by fades in and out of hearing. A lonely house, holding onto the bustle of city life by a single thread. A perfect hiding spot.

The living room is a little barren. There is the couch, the dog. A piano, surprisingly without a layer of dust over its lid. (Jaemin didn't know that Donghyuck played the piano, but after Jeno, he's beginning to think he's not the only one hiding parts of himself. How strange. How exciting.) A bookshelf, affixed low on the wall, stuffed full except the top shelf, crowded with picture frames instead. A coffee table with a half-filled glass of water. No television.

Jaemin gets up and walks over to the bookshelf. Jeno whines softly, missing the hands running through his fur, but Jaemin pays it no mind. He bends down a little, searching the photographs with his eyes. There are none of the ones he's seen in the houses of his previous loves: baby pictures, ones with family, the standard graduation one with the gown and cap. Instead, there are pictures of Donghyuck through the years, a couple on his own but most taken with someone else, a boy with a charming eye-smile. He's a kid in some pictures and a man in others, but it's definitely the same person. The smile remains unmistakably the same. He has his arm around Donghyuck in one, standing by his side in another, piggybacking him in the one that looks most recent. Jaemin bites the tip of his finger. Who is this? A brother, a friend? Donghyuck once mentioned growing up alone, and he had never brought up a friend he knew from childhood. It could be a problem later, if Donghyuck had someone in his life close enough to tell him about Jaemin. The sunflowers curl around his trachea, possessive.

He startles when he feels something warm and solid knock into the back of his knees, but it's just Jeno. It drops the ball in its mouth on the floor, panting, wagging its tail.

"You wanna play catch?" Jaemin asks, and Jeno's tail wags faster. Jaemin smiles, completely smitten. He's decided on taking Jeno with him, now.

Picking up the ball in his hand, he tests its weight before throwing it lightly across the room. Jeno's paws skitter over the floor as it chases after it, then bringing it back like a good dog should. Jaemin throws it again, but this time his aim is a little off, and it rolls under the piano. Try as it might, Jeno can't get it out, nosing around under the piano. Jaemin laughs, walking over to help it out.

"Sorry, boy," Jaemin says. He gets on his knees, presses his temple near the floor to see where the ball is. He locates it almost immediately, but something else, twin somethings, round and glinting in the dusty darkness, catch his eye. He squints to see it better, almost reaching out a hand to touch.

"What are you doing on the floor?" Donghyuck says from above him, and Jaemin's head snaps up. He's standing next to his crouched figure, holding wineglasses in his hands.

"Jeno wanted to play catch. The ball rolled under the piano," Jaemin explains.

"Just leave it, I'll get it out next time I clean. He has too many toys anyway." Donghyuck says. "Come drink your wine."

Jaemin does, but not before he casts one last quick glance under the piano. There's nothing there returning his gaze, just shadows and the vague shape of a ball. He frowns. He could've sworn he saw—

He gets up slowly and takes the wineglass from Donghyuck's hand. The wine is rich and heavy on his tongue, the aftertaste sticking to his throat. He hums, satisfied. 

"You know your wines, Jaemin," Donghyuck comments, setting his glass down on the coffee table. Jaemin winks at him, raising his glass in a toast. "How else would I spoil you, hm?"

Donghyuck just shakes his head, exasperated, but hiding a smile. "Dinner's just about done. Come on."

Jaemin follows him out the living room and to the dining area, but he doesn't sit down at the table, just leaves his wineglass there and heads into the kitchen, too. Once he steps inside, it's like a completely different house. The living room is so lifeless, all evidence of a presence within the house packed neatly into that top shelf, but the kitchen. The kitchen is punctuated with life, a room that breathes. Vines spill over the cupboard, morning glory flowers curled shut among the leaves. Potted plants line the window ledge, some flowering, others not. There is a row of tiny succulents on the kitchen island. On the wall, a rack of dried flowers hangs upside down, all different species and colours, bouquets tied together with twine. He pauses to soak it all in. This is the most vulnerable part of the house. A glimpse into what Donghyuck really loves. The sunflowers seem to react to the presence of other plants nearby, and Jaemin can barely stop himself from coughing up another stalk.

"I didn't know you like plants," Jaemin says, and his voice comes out softer, more ragged than he intended.

"So much you don't know about me, Jaemin," Donghyuck says, teasing. He's by the stove, ladling stew into the bowls. "Yeah, I love plants. Flowers, especially."

"Me too," Jaemin says. "Do you have a favourite flower?"

Donghyuck snickers, casting a glance over his shoulder. "Why, so you can buy me a bouquet? How cliché. You don't need to do that, and anyway, I don't have a favourite. They're all beautiful to me." He takes the lamb leg out of the stew, placing it on a separate plate. "What about you?"

"Crocuses, maybe," Jaemin says, thinking about blood on the speckled blue tiles of high school showers. They say you never forget your first love, after all.

Donghyuck hums. "Crocuses are pretty. I've never grown them before, maybe I should try that next."

"Why do you keep it all in your kitchen? You don't have a garden?" Jaemin asks.

"I rent this house from the neighbours. The land's all theirs. Can't touch it," Donghyuck says. "Could you help me with the rice, please? The rice cooker's right behind you."

Jaemin obediently scoops two portions of rice into porcelain bowls. "I'll buy you a house with a garden, one day," he says, surprising even himself. It's an empty promise, but it makes the sunflowers happy, another flower blooming in his airway and making it hard to breathe. His head swims with the addictive feeling, but in the back of his mind he knows he needs to stop this, soon.

Donghyuck just laughs, bumping his hip as he walks out of the kitchen with the stew and lamb. "You're sweet. But I don't need one, really."

Jaemin trails after him with two steaming bowls of rice. They set the table in the dining area, rearranging the cutlery, Donghyuck refilling their wineglasses. Jaemin eyes the knife that Donghyuck sets down beside the lamb leg, tests its weight and the feel of its wooden handle in his hand as he cuts a piece of lamb for himself, but decides against it for now. He has questions he wants answered, first.

He takes a bite of the lamb and rice—it's delicious, he can admit to being impressed—before starting with an easy one, not wanting Donghyuck to clam up. "You play the piano?"

"Oh, that old thing?" Donghyuck asks around a mouthful of stew. "I play it, but not often. It's more for decoration than anything, since the living room looks so bare."

"Why don't you keep some of your plants out here, then?" Jaemin asks.

"I spend most of my time in the kitchen, so it makes more sense for them to be in there, liven up the place. They're like my friends. I talk to them as I work."

Jaemin realises, belatedly, that he doesn't know what Donghyuck does for a living. He's always skirted around the topic, and Jaemin didn't want to press, didn't care that much about it. He wants to ask now, but the wine is making him drowsy, and the thought slips away as soon as it surfaces.

Jeno's head peaks around the corner, tongue lolling out, its eyes affixed on the lamb on the table. "Begging for scraps?" Donghyuck asks, and Jeno takes it as permission to trot over, its tag straight up in the air, swishing. Donghyuck cuts a big portion of lamb and throws it in the air, Jeno leaping up to catch it in his mouth.

"You feed the dog food you cook?" Jaemin asks, blinking. Something about it unsettles him, but his brain is moving too sluggishly to figure out what it is.

"He eats what I eat," Donghyuck says. Jeno seems happy enough, tearing into the meat, the sauce staining the white fur around its mouth. "How do you like it? The food, I mean."

"It's good," Jaemin says. "The stew is so rich, and it pairs well with the wine."

"Mm, I'm glad you like it. I love cooking this meal. I only prepare it on special occasions." 

Jaemin leans forward, a flirtatious remark about him being special on the tip of his tongue, when an agonising pain pierces his stomach. He gasps, grabbing his abdomen. It's so strong he almost throws up his food. "What—" 

He barely chokes the word out before another spike of pain shakes through him. He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching so hard he might have broken a tooth. The pain is blinding, white-hot, eating him from inside out. He slumps over in his chair, trembling, waiting for it to be over, but it never stops, shockwave after shockwave crashing into him, buzzing through his system, a livewire inside his stomach. 

Jaemin opens his eyes briefly, half-lidded, to see that Donghyuck watching him calmly. He's stopped eating, put his cutlery down to observe him. The look in his eyes is almost regretful, but more than that, it's anticipatory, hungry. Jaemin knows exactly what emotions are hidden behind that mask of stillness. He's seen it reflected back at him in the mirror.

"The stew..." He manages to say in between one wave of pain and the next. Donghyuck inclines his head. Salty, fat tears roll down his cheeks, the pain making him cry involuntarily. He should've killed him, at the front door, with the wine bottle. When his back was to Jaemin, in the kitchen. Just now, with the knife sunk into lamb meat, instead dug into Donghyuck's chest. He should have—

The ringing in his ears is so loud, he almost doesn't hear Donghyuck's quiet voice. 

"I'm sorry about the pain, but it's the least messy way," he says. Jaemin's eyes are rolling into the back of his head, the pain getting hotter and sharper, leaving him dizzy. He tastes blood in the back of his throat, from him biting down on his tongue. The sunflower writhe, seemingly aware that their vessel is dying. "Thanks for loving me."

Jaemin seizes up, paralysed, too far gone to process his words, and then his vision goes black.

Donghyuck hums to himself as he washes the knife in the sink. He's just finished with the worst part of his job, and he would praise himself for how well he did. He hasn't cut into flesh so cleanly, ever. Jaemin really was a gentleman, all the way until the end.

He hears the patter of paws drawing closer and closer, how Jeno jumps up onto the kitchen island, but he doesn't turn around, just grabs a dishcloth and dries the knife. "Jeno," he says mildly. "You know Chenle doesn't like it when we leave marks on the body."

There's a growl, guttural and annoyed, and then then heavy thud of Jeno jumping off the kitchen island. Donghyuck senses him coming closer, leaping up to the counter next to him, but when he turns there's a human boy sitting by his side instead, pouting.

"But I'm _hungry,_ " his familiar whines, so puppy-like even in his human form.

Donghyuck puts the knife away and reaches out to pat him on the head. "Yeah, but do you remember what happened last time you put your teeth on one of Chenle's prized possessions? He cursed you and you died! Necromancy is bothersome and I don't want a repeat," He shoos Jeno off the counter. "Go, there's still some lamb and stew left. Eat that instead."

Jeno wrinkles his nose, but complies, hopping off the counter. "Save some of the snakeroot for me!" Donghyuck calls after him. He's always found it a pity that white snakeroot is poisonous to humans. It's delicious.

With Jeno out of the way and his cleaning up done, Donghyuck turns his attention to the sunflowers laid out beside Jaemin. They're bloody, already wilting slightly from being exposed to the outside air, but so big and in full bloom. The yellow petals are so vibrant they almost glow. Donghyuck runs a finger over them, savouring their beauty. He really loves bigger flowers, and he hasn't grown sunflowers in someone yet. He had high expectations for Jaemin, but this far surpasses them. 

He takes them away, washes the blood off, binds the stalks together with twine. How novel, having such big, pretty flowers in his collection. He hangs them up on the rack to dry, next to all the other flowers he's grown over the years. Donghyuck surveys them, notes which species he has and which he doesn't. What was it that Jaemin said? Crocuses? Perhaps if he's lucky, he'll grow them next time. For now, his mind is already racing with all the potions he can make with sunflowers.

Donghyuck picks his victims very carefully. He has a type. Young, but not too young, so that their lungs are healthy enough to grow flowers within them for as long as possible. Prone to lovesickness. Egotistical, too caught up in their own world to notice all the strange little things about Donghyuck. And Jaemin outperforms all others in every category. 

He smiles, admiring the newest addition to his witch's garden. Really, he is grateful to Jaemin for loving him. How beautiful, are the blooms of unrequited love.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this tweet](https://twitter.com/goryscribbles/status/1263983824402173952?s=21)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/huanggeum) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jingying)


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